The Abandoned
by thenightcircus
Summary: Fang breaks out of the orphanage and has no place to go. Who will possibly help him? Shocking discoveries will forever change him... but will they change his gracious hostess too? AU. No wings. Reupload with the possibility of romance added in!
1. Chapter 1

The Abandoned

Chapter 1

FANG POV:

My mom left me when I was ten. She took me to the park and "went to go to the bathroom." There was a portable bathroom at the far end of the playground; she disappeared behind the plaything. I never saw her again. I stayed on the swings, alone. Nobody came for me; I just sat there until the sun dipped below the horizon and the world became dark. I was terrified. Eventually, a police officer came along and asked where my mommy was; I had no reply. He drove me to the orphanage/ government agency place (the town was THAT small… we couldn't even have two separate buildings).

They looked through my records; I wasn't born in a hospital. My mother never registered me on a census. No birth certificate, but there was a death certificate. When I was one year old, my mother had filed for my death. Looking back, I could only assume that such a deadbeat mother like her didn't want anyone to come looking for a child to impose taxes on her. I had no father because he was dead too. No one could verify that I was the Nick Fang on the death certificate. Did they even know how old I was? The officer whispered quietly to the woman checking the records. I was on the other side of the door, ear pressed against it. I was crying, as only a young, lost boy should.

The receptionist at the orphanage had taken my hand and half dragged me to the playground outside where all of the other children were playing. I felt so awkward there. I knew nobody, and nobody knew me. I was so shy that I just stood there for about ten minutes before I walked hesitantly over to the sandbox. There was only one other boy there. He had blond hair and electric blue eyes. I sat down in the sand and began to build a sand castle, just like I used to, when mommy was around. The boy scooted closer to me; he asked, "Can I help you?" I nodded. We became friends over the next six years. He was the only person I ever knew at that God-forsaken place, not that I really cared to know anyone.

* * *

IGGY POV:

The first day I met Nick, he told me to call him by his last name: Fang. That was a new one. Especially for a kid.

I soon found out that Fang was "the silent one." He never talked about his past, never talked about the present, never talked about the future. You never knew what was happening on the inside, only the outside. His emotions were scribbled plainly on his face; that was his only "fault," per se. Fang became fairly tall, 6"2 to be exact. I beat him though: 6"3. Boo yeah!

He was moody, cranky, and emotionally distant. I was always the one who said, "Let's go and drop water balloons from the roof," and other activities of the type. I mean, if I didn't suggest stuff, who would? Certainly not him. If it was to Fang, we would sit on his bed all day with the shades half open, waiting for nothing. At least I was lively.

But something ruined that.

When I was fifteen, I started to feel very off. I wasn't feeling well; I couldn't get out of bed. The doctor came in and looked over me: he said I needed to go to the hospital. They did scans on my body, and took notes from the other room. I was scared, but I didn't let Fang see that. He had refused help for the loss of his mother, he was damaged; I didn't want to add to the pain he had already been feeling.

They told me I had cancer. I cried for a long, long time. I didn't know how to tell Fang.

I eventually stopped crying and accepted it. They had caught the cancer in the last stage; it had spread everywhere. It was too late to start chemotherapy or radiation. My condition slowly went down hill. And when I say slowly, I mean it felt like overnight. It would be at that juncture in time that I told Fang. I knew I was going to die soon, and I wanted him to be prepared for it too.

He cried when I told him. It was the biggest show of emotion I had ever seen from him. I can only imagine the hopelessness he felt. He couldn't do anything to save me, nor could I for that matter. This was just the cycle of life, I suppose.

* * *

FANG POV:

The day of my sixteenth birthday, Iggy passed away in his sleep; the way everyone wants to go. I didn't want to be happy. I didn't want to talk to anybody. I just sat on Iggy's bed and looked at him. He looked so calm. The weeks leading up to his passing, he had accepted he was going to die. It made me so sad. I was a borderline basket case.

Iggy and I had made plans to break out of the horrid place from hell known as this orphanage. I really had nothing to take with me, just the clothes on my back the little cash that I had. He had had the same. Everything had been planned out by Iggy, and I wasn't going to let that plan go to waste. Subconsciously, I blamed the orphanage for Iggy's death, and this was my act of vengeance.

Iggy's body was taken away that day to a funeral home across town; that was the last I saw of him until the funeral. It was a small service, made up of myself, a few of the government workers, as well as a social worker. Iggy had been cremated, as he had requested. We spread his ashes on the beach; he had loved the sand so dearly, after all.

* * *

There really was no way to get out of the orphanage without getting caught. The only chance you had was when the woman watching the kids on the playground called someone to take her place and she waited out in the hallway. When this happened, I jumped the fence and ran for my life.

* * *

_END. _

_Hello again! I decided to redo this story. I corrected a few grammatocal errors and added a few parts in. Let me know what you think!_

_And a shout out to Freedom Requires A Battle Cry, who, looking back, reviewed so much! Follow her lead!_


	2. Chapter 2

The Abandoned

Chapter 2

FANG POV:

I ran for a long time, and I made it pretty far. I didn't stop. I didn't slow down. I just blindly ran. When I finally stopped, I found myself standing in front of the park where my mom had left me so many years ago. Everything was the same. The swings were still in front of the play structure, the portable toilet behind it. It was eerie. No one was there, no children were yelling, no teenagers sitting on the park benches. Nothing. Just silence. They say that silence can cut you like a knife, and at that moment, I believed it. It was sharp. Jagged. Scary.

I walked hesitantly to the swing set. I sat down on the exact same swing as I had on the worst day of my life. But I couldn't be sure. Today was possibly the worst day of my life too. My best friend died on my "sweet" sixteenth; how very, very sweet indeed. The moment was overwhelming, and I broke down. I just sat there, weeping. I heard footsteps approaching on the gravel. I didn't look up because, quite frankly, I didn't care anymore if I lived or if I died. It could have been a broad shouldered man with a switchblade coming at me and I wouldn't have looked up.

They sat down beside me and began to swing, not appearing to care that I was a mess. The creaky swing stopped making sounds. I did nothing. They started to say something, but thought better of it. They sighed and got up from the swing.

I looked up. There, standing in front of me, was a beautiful, 5"11, gorgeous blonde chick with her hands on her hips. I wiped my tears away and tried to gain back some dignity, which wasn't coming back as fast as I wish it could have. I stood up and brushed past her.

She chased after me and blocked my path. "Look: you can't just cry next to me and not tell me what you're crying about," she said. Well, that was unexpected. She was… assertive… or maybe that was aggressive…

She stood there, waiting for an answer, one hand on her hips, and the other flat against my chest to stop me from moving forward. I started to say something and it went like this: "Uhh… nothing," and I walked away, side stepping her hand. So smooth. Smoother than a baby's butt. Smoother than Smooth Criminal. Smoother than tree bark. As smooth as jagged rocks, is the bottom line. Yeah, I'm just that good. I just walked away from possibly the most attractive girl in this town. But who cares anyway, faces are wicked when you're alone.

I don't really care about the specifics of what she said; she just asked some questions and where she could drop me off, stuff like that.

The only part of her spiel that stands out in my mind is that she came from the same orphanage as me and that she escaped about six months ago. Somehow, I had managed to miss her. I guess I was too skulking around with Iggy to notice anyone else. In the end, he was the only person I ever cared to know.

* * *

We got in her jalopy of a car and drove to her apartment, if you could call it that. She lived in a place that could have been for crack heads. And I'm sure it was. I so did not want to be there but shelter is shelter is shelter is shelter as my horrid mother used to say.

She unlocked the door with her key and opened the door to reveal a disgustingly grimy little living room, with doors leading to a small kitchen and a bathroom. The couch had a pullout bed, so I guess it was the bedroom too. There was a small television in the corner of the room hooked up to the wall. Well, she had cable. That was always a plus.

She walked over to the fridge and rummaged through some packaged food. She looked over her shoulder called, "I guess I forgot to tell you my name. Max. What was your name, again?"

"Nick," I muttered. I was hesitant to step into the kitchen. It was a boxy, little space. The walls were white, with a few dirty cupboards. The floors were tiled; no laminate, so I suppose that was nice. A small table adorned one of the corners, with two chairs on both exposed sides (it was kitty cornered).

"Hey! I remember when you first came to the orphanage!" Max suddenly exclaimed rather loudly. "You were so awkward and you were friends with that Iggy guy! How's he doing anyway?" She turned her attention back to the fridge.

"He died a few days ago. On my birthday," I whispered the last part. I'm pretty sure Max didn't hear me though. She closed the fridge and leaned on the doorway.

"I'm sorry to hear that," she said. She sighed and went back into the kitchen. "Is that what you were crying about earlier?" I heard her taking out pans and whatnot and heard the sizzle of some sort of fat on the stove. I smelled bacon, but wasn't very hungry. I hadn't been all day. I'd eat some anyway though. She didn't notice when I ignored her question.

Max called me to sit down at the table and put a plate of bacon in front of me. I had to admit, it looked pretty tasty. Then I put some in my mouth and tried not to spit it back out. "Thanks," I said. One could no longer call what Max had put in front of me bacon. I guess she liked hers extra extra extra crispy.

We didn't talk much until it came to sleeping arrangements, as by this time it was getting late. She let me take her bed because it had been "a bad day" and she slept on the grimy carpet that would make any sane person want to shudder and run away.

I didn't fall asleep quickly; too many things on my mind. I started to cry again when I thought about Iggy. God, he was too young.

* * *

_END. _

_Review review review review! _


	3. Chapter 3

The Abandoned

Chapter 3

MAX POV (flashback):

_The new boy was dragged out to the playground by that horrid lady at the desk. What a witch. He looked lost; he just stood there for a while before he walked over to the sand box. He looked about ten, my age. Iggy was sitting in the sand box too. He moved over to the new kid. They started building stuff together in the sand. It made me sad. Even the new kid could have friends. What about the kid that had been at the orphanage for her entire life? Well, seven years of it anyway. Why couldn't I have friends? Why couldn't Iggy want to build things with me? _

_I arrived at the orphanage when I was three, going on four. My dad had been a heroin addict and mother died at childbirth. Finally child services came for me after a neighbour had looked into the window of our home, only to see me playing with dirty needles. When the had leasd me away, my dad had put a gun against his head and threatened to kill himself if they took me away. They did. I didn't see him die, but I heard it. The women leading me away picked me up rushed me over to the van that they had arrived in; some other blond kid was in there, too. I soon found out that his name was Iggy. He was a good kid coming from a similar situation. _

_The orphanage was completely foreign to me. I hadn't been exposed to children yet and found it strange that they wanted to play with me. I ignored them and played by myself. They eventually learned to stop asking to play with me because I always said no. I was my own undoing, really. I had no social interaction as a child, so that set me up for some serious jealousy when I really needed friends. Apart from my social isolation, the going was good. There was food and nice people to take care of me. What more could I have asked for?_

_Anyways, back to the boy. I watched him grow up. From age ten to fifteen, he went from depressed to happier, but still sad. He was the one I wanted to be friends with. Iggy was always around him, so I could have had two friends. I didn't seize the right opportunity, in my opinion. I picked escape over happiness. I found a grubby old apartment in the city next to ours and I took what I could get. There were some pretty creepy people living around here, but what can you do when you live in a shoe? You could tug on the laces and break the holes or you could be content that you even had a shoe. I took the shoe. _

I preferred not to think of the days gone past. What were they going to help me with now? They just made me lonely, knowing that now I didn't even have the comfort of the social workers at the orphanage. No one had wanted to adopt me, and that had also made me sad. Being sad was the opposite of what I wanted: happiness. So I forgot about all of those things and focused on the good. Nick, who apparently preferred to be called Fang, was in my life now, my long lost but never had friend. I found him in a park on the outskirts of town. He was bawling on a swing on the playground. He looked so disheveled that it was hard to watch.

I sat down on the swing next to him. I started to swing in an attempt to get his attention. But he just sat there crying. Grr, this was going to be harder than I thought. I started to say something but stopped. He was still bawling; it just didn't seem right. So I used a different tactic. I got up and stood in front of him. He looked up and stopped crying. He gave me a quick up and down. He got up and walked away. Okay, different tactic. I chased after him and put my hand on his chest to stop him. He looked kind of happy that I had chased after him. I asked him why he was crying and he just paused and said, "Umm… nothing." This was going to be frustrating.

He scooted around my hand, so I chased after him again. This time, I still blocked his path, but he let me walk with him this time. I offered him a drive and he took it. It turns out we were from the same orphanage! No shit, Sherlock!

* * *

I took him back to my apartment and attempted bacon. Should have been simple, right? NO. I really needed to get a microwave. This stovetop stuff was far too difficult. I called him over to the table, and he sat down in my chair. No matter.

I handed him a plate of my specialty, crispy stuff, and he ate it politely but his face gave him away. It was contorted trying not to look disgusted. I didn't blame him. I didn't eat any of it. Who would be crazy enough to eat my cooking? Apparently Fang was. No matter. The thought was what counted.

We meandered into the living room/bedroom area when we were finished. I let him sleep in my bed; it had been a rough day. His buddy, Iggy, had died. My could-have-been buddy, sigh. I snuggled up on that horrid carpet and tried to fall asleep, but Fang started to cry a little bit. I shimmied my stuff closer to him, so that I was sleeping on the floor right next to the bed. I reached up and patted his arm awkwardly. I don't do emotions, except for anger and sarcasm. Is sarcasm even an emotion? Because I think it is.

* * *

I woke up the next day very stiff. God, that floor was hard. Ouch.

Fang was still asleep, and snoring quite loudly I might add. I didn't attempt food again. I walked quietly to the fire escape and skipped stairs on the way down to the street. I ran to the McDonalds across the way and bought a couple burgers and some French fries for breakfast. The cashier knew me by name. I really had to stop buying McDonalds so often.

When I got back, Fang was awake and hungry. He shut down completely when I tried to start conversation. Fine, be that way, I thought. We ate in silence. In fact, we spent the whole day in silence. I was used to it, and he was messed up, so I didn't bother pushing any unwanted conversation on him. I had nobody to talk to anyways, but now that there was somebody to talk to, it made a world of difference. I don't blame him for not talking to me; his best friend died on his birthday, ya know.

* * *

_END. _

_Review review review!_


	4. Chapter 4

The Abandoned

Chapter 4

MAX POV:

Fang had been staying with me for about one week before he started to open up a little bit. My grimy apartment and horrid cooking must have done it. One gloriously gloomy morning, I walked into the kitchen and noticed Fang already sitting there. I didn't make a fuss about him sitting in my chair. _My chair. _Although I wondered why he hadn't made anything to eat. Neither of us enjoyed my cooking, and he knew it. So, was I the maid now? I was jumping the gun. He was still a guest. He wasn't permanently living with me.

He patted the table. I took a seat, feeling a somewhat confused look pass over my face before I put the neutral mask on my face again. "What do you want? I'm going to be late for work," I said curtly. I hadn't meant to sound mean.

He didn't say anything for a little while, so I started getting up when he said, "I'm cooking from now on." Great. At least I don't have to cook anymore! Less food poisoning! Yay!

"And," he continued, I cocked an eyebrow at him, "I want to… thank you for taking me in and stuff." He mumbled awkwardly, scratching the back of his head.

"What's that?" I asked sarcastically. "I didn't hear you. Speak up." I leaned over, sticking my rear end out, with my hand cupping my ear in his direction. He looked up at me with a look of … something. But it wasn't happiness, I'll tell ya that right now. I grinned smugly at him, standing up and crossing my arms, never breaking eye contact.

"Thanks," he said at regular level. It was his "outside voice" and everyone else's "inside voice". I smirked and continued my morning routine.

I poured myself some black coffee in a chrome travel mug and headed out the door so I could make it to work on time. I was an office assistant at a major corporation. I wasn't sure exactly what they did, but I mostly just couriered documents everywhere and sometime sub for the secretary. It paid the bills, so I guess it really didn't matter what the specifics were. I believe it was a law firm, and I served legal documents to unsuspecting citizens. There were two companies in that building: the law firm, and a publisher. I worked for both, as both were owned by the same multibillionaire. This week I was worker for the publisher, where I also served documents and notices to writers who refuse to meet their deadlines.

I started to hum nothing in particular on my way across the busy city street. The Blackberry that the company had supplied to me started to vibrate uncontrollably in my jacket pocket; what a horrible phone, the thing was always freezing on me. When the company hired me, they knew I was dirt poor and didn't have any nice clothes, so they hooked me up with a company card and I got to go haywire in Macy's. Normally I don't like shopping, but after dwelling in grime and dirt for a few weeks, I graciously accepted the new clothing. I always wondered why the company had done that for me. I was just starting out, I had no connections in the company, and I didn't even get to finish high school. Why was I even considered for that job? They knew all of that information, the only thing they didn't know about me was that I was only sixteen, instead of twenty like I claimed to be. What they didn't know didn't hurt them. I made a little more than minimum wage, and that little extra allowed me to buy just enough food. I wasn't willing to give that up.

My Blackberry vibrated again. I looked at the text quickly. My boss said I only had ten minutes to get her a cup of black coffee and get to the office. I was still two blocks away from the building, but I had the coffee covered. I had made it for her anyway. I make coffee every morning for my boss; that makes me her favourite. She has multiple minions, as I call the slaves she has for assistants, which would dance for her if she asked. Fortunately, none of them get there as early as I do, and none of them ever bear coffee.

I ran for a block and a half in a pair of wretched black leather pumps until I reached the last crosswalk. I checked my watch: three minutes. I was doing well.

I strutted into the skyscraper, looking quite chic, if I do say so myself. My heels clicked loudly in the gray marble lobby. It was almost deserted except for a few business people and the occasional assistant running off to do something. I sauntered up to the receptionist, Matt. He had gelled brown hair, with two black studs in each ear. His stylish glasses sat at the end of his nose, his slender fingers moving quickly across the keyboard of his computer. He looked up casually at me with big brown eyes, and slapped a pile of mail in front of me.

"So how's Jason?" I asked, referring to his boyfriend of five months. I had seen them together at the last office party; they were adorable together.

"He's good, Maxie. I hear you have a boy staying with you. Is he cute?" He asked curiously, smirking. I smacked him upside the head. He fluffed his hair, feigning astonishment and pain. "My hair!" he scoffed.

"Oh shush up! You have a boyfriend. And I took him in because I found him in the park crying. He was in the same orphanage as me. But it's nothing. He's a recluse." I fluffed my hair as well and picked up the stack of envelopes, leaning over the desk, propped up on my arm.

I looked over to see the doors of the crowded elevator closing. "Gotta run!" I said, rushing away from the desk, throwing a quick wave over my shoulder. I caught the elevator just in time. I shoved myself forcefully into the small place, the people around me grumbling to themselves. The soft music in the background was terribly monotonous as I watched the clicker move slowly up the scale until it finally reached my floor. I practically fell out as the doors closed behind me. I straightened myself out and pushed my way through the glass doors, entering the office. I glanced at my watch. Thirty seconds.

I grabbed my Blackberry from my pocket as I weaved in and out of passing office workers, throwing my coat over the back of my chair when I arrived at my cubicle. It was covered in beige fabric; papers were pinned haphazardly on the walls, pens and stamps strewn all over the desk. I'll have to clean this later, I think to myself.

I caught my boss just as she made her way out of her office, hand outstretched for her coffee. I put the mug in her hand and read her mail to her. Someone walking past me handed me my clipboard and Bluetooth. I called a 'thanks' over my shoulder.

"Maximum," I heard my boss say, "call Jim in accounting and ask him about the status of the check that you deposited the other day. And have him fax me the month's overview of our spending on printing ink." I scribbled that down on my clipboard, following her out of the office space, and into a hallway leading to a waiting room for clients.

This was the main floor for the publisher; this is where the big guys worked, the office space was for their worker monkeys. The editors are on the floor below us. Us worker monkeys, we took care of ordering supplies, checking up on writers, and taking care of any ignored deadlines. If an author missed the deadline, it was my job to go to their house and make a little visit. In my short time there, I had already done that four times. The visits didn't really do anything. The authors did whatever they wanted and got us the manuscript whenever they finished. I wasn't much of an enforcer.

I broke away from my boss and called Jim. He said he had already faxed Ms. Hiliker, my boss, the overview just before I called and he said that the check had gone through. Joy, the rich just got richer.

He also said that there was an author that missed his deadline. Finally, something interesting to do.

* * *

I pulled up to William Becket's house in the company car and knocked on his door softly. I heard footsteps close to the door; stomping was more like it.

A man that hobos everywhere would put to shame came to the door. He had a long black beard and beady little eyes, the edges of which were trimmed in crimson veins. His hair was grown out and looked like it hadn't been brushed in… years. His clothing was lacking as well. Boxers really aren't appropriate to answer the door in. I will never un-see that image. He was severely out of shape and had a beer bottle in his hand. I see he never set a boundary as to when it was too early to drink alcohol in the day.

It was time to get this over with. "Hello, Mister Becket, I assume?" I said in my most snooty, professional voice.

The man nodded. I had read his profile before I left the office, and as it turns out, this hobo with a house actually managed to write a few best sellers… before he became a grubby hobo man, I hope. I have no faith in modern day literature if he wrote best sellers in his current state. "I'm here about your missed deadline," I stated. He looked confused for a moment. A wave of knowledge passed over his features. Man, this guy was slow. He was probably drunk anyway, so I didn't care if he realised it or not. I was getting that manuscript whether he gave it to me willingly, or unwillingly.

"I need the manuscript, sir," I said again, a little more forcefully. I stared him down until he started to move back into his cave, watching as he rummaged around his paperwork until he found the fat pile of words he owed me. I grabbed it from him. "Thank you, sir."

He watched me drive away and I felt like stepping on it to get away from him, but I restrained myself. Just be happy I didn't drive the stupid car into the hobo man's house. Then he would have been a real hobo. Something about him just creeped me out; maybe it was the fact that he hadn't said anything to me the entire time I had been standing on his doorstep.

I made my way back to my office and managed to catch the elevator again, except this time, there were only five other people inside. I ran out of the iron cage a floor early to the editors' floor. I made my way the chief's office. I hurried to get the manuscript to him, so that I could start my other small jobs upstairs. I slammed the manuscript onto the mahogany desk and started to walk away. I heard a faint "thank you" behind me.

I sat at my desk for the rest of the day, not bothering with anything too big that would require a substantial amount of my time.

After I left the huge building for the day, I took my pumps off and started walking down the crowded streets without any shoes. _I think I'll go home and burn these_, I thought to myself.

* * *

I stood in front of my doorway and sighed. I forgot my keys in the key bowl. I squinted to see through the peephole and stared at my keys. They were _right there. _I banged on the door and screamed at Fang to let me in. Nobody in this building minded. They were mostly crack heads.

Fang took his sweet time getting to the door, looking through the peephole hazily, only to stare at my eye, which was still pretty much pressed against the glass.

FANG POV:

I was just sitting peacefully on the fire escape forgetting the past week's events when I heard frantic screaming at the front door. I tiptoed over to the peephole, afraid of what I would see on the other side. A deranged drug addict, perhaps? I took a blind leao and looked through it. A dark brown eye stared back at me. "It's me!" Max yelled through the wood.

I undid all of the locks on the doors and stood aside to let Max in. She grabbed her keys, which were sitting in the bowl next to the door on a little table that also had a candle on it. The table also had a drawer on the front of it. I had been curious about what was inside while Max was gone and I didn't see any harm in looking. It was locked. I was so curious about though.

Max collapsed onto the pullout couch and took a deep breath. She wore a very tight navy skirt and a white silk blouse to work. What did she do again? She told me but I couldn't remember…

I meandered into the kitchen and began to make dinner for two. I found a pot in one of the cupboards and pulled out some ingredients that I had bought while Max was out. She has left me some cash to buy some real food. Not packaged junk. Spaghetti would be a major change for Max; I had barely survived a few days of Max food, let alone six months of Max food.

* * *

_END._

**Iggy: Hey! This was the longest chappie yet! But it's too bad that I WAS KILLED OFF.**

**Max: Well, that can only be expected with you.**

**Fang: So true.**

**Iggy: Ahh whatever. RnR?**

_(When I was redoing all of these chapters, I couldn't help but keep this in, I still think it's funny hahaha)_


	5. Chapter 5

The Abandoned

Chapter 5

MAX POV:

As soon as Fang let me into the apartment, I immediately went to the couch and collapsed sideways on the old mattress. I closed my eyes while I lay there, and all I could see was glorious darkness. But suddenly the image of the hobo man appeared and I sighed. I was trying too hard not to think about it. I sat up, stretched out my arms, and walked into the kitchen and sat in there in silence. At least I had company; I always felt drained of energy after a long day of work, and that sometimes left me feeling a bit empty. What was I doing this for? I always came home to an empty apartment in a horrible neighbourhood, with not enough money to buy cleaning supplies for the cheap space. I didn't have enough money for anything, really. I thought about enrolling myself in high school, but I quickly realized that I didn't have time for that; I had to work. A double-edged knife if I ever saw one.

Fang was standing in front of the stove, stirring something around in a pot. It smelled really good. I stood up slowly, creeping up behind him to see what he was stirring. He turned around to face me, effectively blocking my way. "Surprise," he muttered.

"Fine. Be that way," I snapped playfully. I reclaimed my spot at the table once more. I looked at Fang. And I looked at the table. And then I looked at Fang. Why was there nothing to do in this apartment? Oh, yeah. I was poor.

I meandered back into the living room and grabbed my Blackberry from my coat, opening the very addicting games that I "accidentally" made the company pay for. Oops. I was in the middle of a pretty intense game of Brick when Fang called me out for supper. The entire apartment smelled of his cooking. My mouth started to water, I hadn't had a good meal in so long. Since I left the orphanage, perhaps.

I sat down at my chair again and waited for the food to appear on my plate. And it did, which is weird, because I didn't know I had that super power… But then I noticed Fang standing over me with the pot of spaghetti and a weird expression on his face; he must have noticed the look of absolute euphoria on my face. I looked down at my plate and blushed; I noticed that there was not nearly enough spaghetti on my plate. Fang was about to deal himself some but I stopped him. "FANG, NO, I NEED MORE." Wow, that was kind of loud. Calm, calm thoughts now.

Fang sat down in the other chair and dug in. He ate properly, with a spoon, and I tried to mimic him. I couldn't get the hang of it though, so I grabbed one of the knives that he had laid out and cut the long noodles in an attempt to be less of a barbarian when I ate in front of this stranger.

We didn't make conversation, and we didn't really look at each other at all. It was awkward, actually. The only sounds you could hear were slurping sounds, made by yours truly, and the torrential downpour outside. The evening was gloomy, but we made the best of it. In the end, it was almost pleasant.

I finished the meal, laying my fork down as I leaned into the back of my chair. This skirt was so tight. It felt like the seams were going to burst. I slowly got up and brought my plate and silverware to the sink to be washed. I brought out the dish soap from under the sink and got my handy-dandy sponge out too. The water started to fill the sink, but as I was about to start pouring the soap in too, Fang appeared behind me. He reached around me to grab my wrist, pulling it to the counter, resting his other hand on the counter on my other side. "I'll get the dishes," he said close to my ear. He was close. Too close for me right now. I mumbled something I wasn't sure he could hear, ducked under one of his arms, and slipped out of the kitchen as quickly and gracefully as I could.

* * *

FANG POV:

Max seemed to be enjoying the spaghetti. She looked unhealthy; she wasn't eating enough, or wasn't getting enough nutrients or something, because her skin was unnaturally pale. She looked sickly, actually.

She finished before me, leaving the table almost immediately to put her dishes in the sink. I watched her back as she began the washing process. This wasn't right. Here I am, a guest in her home, sitting around all day while she works, and I'm letting her do the dishes. How shameful of me. It was almost embarrassing.

I got up from my spot and walked behind her, removing her hand from its position above the sink. I rested my hand on her other side, on the counter. I realized that this was unnecessarily intimate, something I didn't realize when I did it to begin with. I just hoped this didn't seem awkward for her. "I'll get the dishes," I mumbled.

"Uh, sure," she said awkwardly. "I need to talk a shower." She placed the soap on the counter and left towards the bathroom. I resumed where she had left off. I heard the water running in the background and continued with the dishes. Out of the blue, I could hear Max singing. I smiled; it was something familiar, but I couldn't put my finger on it. It brought up emotions inside of me, but I didn't understand why. My smile promptly disappeared. I left the kitchen with dirty dishes still in the sink and headed to the living room, which was closer to the bathroom than the kitchen was. I could make out the words more clearly, but I still couldn't put my finger on it…

* * *

_END_

_What could the song possibly be? I don't even remember... Let's find out! Review review review!_


	6. Chapter 6

The upcoming chapter is a songfic, and thanks to BlueButterfliesPlayOnMyGuita r, the song shall be Slow Me Down by Emmy Rossum. Thanks, dude!

* * *

The Abandoned

Chapter 6

FANG POV:

I sat down on the edge of the mattress, straining to hear Max sing, my body facing her general direction. The rain continued assaulting the broken cement outside. There were gentle pings as the drops collided with the metal stairway attached to the balcony. I took a moment to look at the raindrops running down the window's meticulously polished glass; Max must have broken down and gone without a few things to get that window cleaner. A thousand glittering drops adorned the glass. The window was open slightly, letting in a soft, cool breeze. I shivered. There was too much noise out here; I had to get closer to the bathroom.

I walked down the short hallway and leaned against the off-white wall, sliding down the smooth surface, just outside the doorway. The faint aroma of Max's body washes drifted to my nose; it was comforting, in a strange way. Maybe that's why I had trusted her in the first place. Always trust a pretty lady that smells nice? No? Nothing bad had happened to me under her care, so for now it was a good decision.

I could hear her voice perfectly from my spot on the floor. She wasn't good, but she wasn't bad either. I tried to remember where I'd heard the lyrics before; they sounded so very familiar, although the melody was foreign.

As I listened, I realized that I had never heard the song before, but the words rang warning bells in my head; they were slightly off though from what I thought I remembered. I suddenly recognized why the lyrics meant something to me. I tried to get up before it was too late, before I was drawn in, but there was something entrancing about the sound of Max's voice and the pounding of the water hitting the porcelain tub. A familiar voice started singing the words softly in my head, one which was not my own, but of someone that I had once known… The memories came flooding back…

* * *

I remembered back to my childhood. My shell of a childhood.

Terrible nightmares flooded my vision and I found myself screaming for her warm embrace to take away the horrible monsters that plagued my mind. She rushed into my petit bedroom in our small apartment. Taking a seat at my bedside, she pulled me into a tight hug, saying that everything was okay and it wasn't real. As she rocked us back and forth, I slowly calmed and the tears that had been running down my face dried up; the remaining fell onto her flannel nightgown. I lay back down onto my pillow while she sat in the rocking chair adjacent to my single bed. The old wooden chair creaked as she sat and rocked slightly. I closed my eyes as she began to sing. At the time, I barely listened to the words, mostly the melody. I heard that song echo through my mind as a child. It was our song. At least one other time, I was sure that I had read it.

* * *

Alone in my room at the orphanage, I lie on my bed, restless. My mind will not shut down for me to sleep, thoughts running rampant. I think about how I ended up in this room, how my mom had left me. I sit up and move to the side of the small bed, reach under the bed frame and pull out a small box containing the clothing I wore the day of the "incident," as well as some other small items. I slip into the large jacket, given to me by my mother, and put my hands in the pockets, wanting to feel like I was at home in the apartment with mom still down the hall. I feel something brush my hand. I take it out and discover that it is a note from my mother. I stare at the folded piece of paper for what seems like forever until I work up the courage to open it.

I unfold it slowly, carefully. It feels delicate in my hands and I do not wish to rip it. The ink is beginning to fade, but my mother's perfect handwriting is still visible. I read the words aloud:

_Rushing and racing  
and running in circles  
Moving so fast, I'm forgetting my purpose  
Blur of the traffic is sending me spinning  
Getting nowhere_

Bells chime in my head in recognition as if I've heard these words before, though I can't be sure.

_My head and my heart are colliding, chaotic_  
_Pace of the world_  
_I just wish I could stop it_  
_Try to appear like I've got it together_  
_I'm falling apart_

I can feel a piece of my heart break off as I read about how my mother was struggling and yet I could not see it when I was with her…

_Save me_

Another huge chunk of my heart cracks and explodes out of my chest. I couldn't save her…

_Somebody take my hand, and lead me  
Slow me down  
Don't let love pass me by  
Just show me how  
'Cause I'm ready to fall  
Slow me down  
Don't let me live a lie  
Before my life flies by _

Live a lie? Her life flies by? I don't understand what she means… I'm only a child, I need you…

_I need you to slow me down_

_Sometimes I fear that I might disappear_  
_In the blur of fast forward I falter again_  
_Forgetting to breathe, I need to sleep_  
_I'm getting nowhere_

She was so broken, how did I not see it…

But then again, I was 10 at the time. I wouldn't have looked for that kind of thing. She had put on a very realistic mask for me. I can't bring myself to appreciate that just yet.

_All that I've missed I see in the reflection_  
_Passed me while I wasn't paying attention_

"The only possible way I can interpret those lines is that she felt she was too concerned with me, and it was my fault her life was wasting away," I think to myself. My insides feel like they've dropped inside me, and that my chest cavity is now empty.

_Tired of rushing, racing and running  
I'm falling apart_

_Tell me_  
_Oh won't you take my hand and lead me_  
_Slow me down_  
_Don't let love pass me by_  
_Just show me how_  
_'Cause I'm ready to fall_  
_Slow me down_  
_Don't let me live a lie_  
_Before my life flys by_

I try not to over analyze the words, but there could be only one reason she left this written in the pocket for me. She was trying to tell me something, something I'm not sure I really need to know.

_I need you to slow me down_

The note ends as abruptly as it had started. No "love you forever, Mom" ending. Just "I need you to slow me down." The repetition in the letter seems more of a song lyric than a well thought out letter to my twelve-year-old self. I begin to doubt that this piece of paper was truly destined for my eyes or if it was for another. The entirety of the song may not be true, but some parts must have been; it would explain why she just left me alone the way she did. I fold the paper back up neatly and place it in the box this time instead of my pocket.

I continue looking though the box. At the bottom I find an unopened envelope. On the front of its cream surface is an inscription:

_TO FANG_

_The items contained within this envelope are only to be read when you feel as though you are mentally and emotionally ready to deal with a life-changing event._

I ponder my mental and emotional state briefly and decide that I am ready to open the envelope. I rip open the top and pull out the first piece of paper. I unfold it and begin reading. It is a copy of a confession said by none other than my mother. In it, she confessed to child neglect and abandonment of a child. I didn't view our time together as neglect. I could only remember her always being there. Maybe it was just tied in with the other confession… A nurse must have found my box, and placed the letter inside for me. I silently thanked her for opening my eyes to the reality of things.

I did not wish to read that any longer. I take the second piece of paper out and unfold it. It is another police report, but there is a difference. I read the report. It says that mother was confirmed both mentally unstable and a cocaine addict. The latter was confirmed by a blood sample. A tear slips from my eye and drops onto the report; I was too naïve to ever see that in my mother. She must have been so messed up. We were too poor to afford medication, I assume. I idly ponder what mental ailment she had as I pull out the third and final piece of paper.

The last piece of paper is a court order. It states that due to unsuitable conditions, I am not to be placed in my mother's custody and am to remain in the orphanage as my father could neither be identified nor determined. Another piece of my heart falls off. (I would later find out that in my mother's confession, she claims that my father is dead, but who knows, she wasn't medicated then either.)

I have to stay here until I am adopted or grow up. The former will never come true though. Everyone knows that people don't want to adopt older kids because of their possible mental states; they just want babies. Babies don't have emotional and mental baggage like the older kids. This knowledge confirms that I will be stuck in this awful little room until I am eighteen years of age.

I look up from the pieces of paper from my lap and through the barred window; the moon shines brightly with no clouds to block my view. The sight depresses me. I replace each document in order in the envelope and in turn replace the envelope in the box. I slide the box under my bed and lay my head on the pillow, hoping that reality will fade out, and dream will fade in…

* * *

The last piece of my heart shattered, joining the rest of the broken pieces. I understood more fully now, now that I was older. I should have grabbed that box when I left. I closed my eyes and continued listening to Max. A single tear rolled down my cheek; I didn't wipe it away, but rather let it fall.

The water in the bathroom shut off and I heard Max's feet hit the mat on the floor. I scrambled up and ran down the hall, fearing that she might catch me outside of the door. The bathroom door opened as soon as I put my head on Max's pillow to fake sleep. I heard the closet at the end of the hallway open and the swish of fabric as it was dragged off of a shelf. The sound of a towel dropping to the floor got my attention; I squandered the thoughts before they could start however, lest Max should notice when she enters the room. She walked into the room and sighed. I felt her presence next to the pull out couch on the floor, settling in to sleep.

I suddenly felt like I didn't want to hear anything else for the rest of the night; I blocked out all sounds from there on in and became immersed in my thoughts. As I was thinking, something very important occurred to me; for the whole time I had been at the orphanage, no one had discovered my box, other than the person who put the envelope inside. Had they found it, they would confiscated it. But no one ever had. There was a chance that it was still under that bed.

My eyes shot wide open. I wanted that box and I intended to get it, even if it meant breaking back into that wretched place and searching.

* * *

_END_

_Review review review!_


	7. Chapter 7

A warning to you if you don't want to read about drugs use/ mature themes.

* * *

The Abandoned

Chapter 7

FANG POV:

I rolled over to the side of the bed closest to the kitchen and door, so as not to wake Max. I slipped one foot out of the bed, followed by the other. Since I had snuck into bed minutes earlier, I was still in black jeans and a black t-shirt. Good B/E clothes. I decided on bringing a black hoodie too, to cover my face if need be. Thank god I'd brought _that_ with me.

I walked quietly into the kitchen in search of useful items. Since what I was doing was illegal anyway, I didn't think it would hurt to bring a knife; I found one in a drawer by the fridge. I rummaged through a few other drawers before I found a couple of bucks to take with me. Now I was stealing from Max. Super.

I was about to walk out the door when I rethought taking a concealed weapon into a government agency with small children on the premises. I slide the knife out of my boot, careful not to cut myself, and hid it behind the bowl next to the door. The door slid open silently, and I twisted the knob and brought the door to the closed position gently once I was on the outside. I looked down the filthy hallway; at one end there was a rather homeless looking man smoking a joint. Unfortunately, that was the end with the exit. Great. I get to walk past a potentially dangerous crack head. I waffled on the subject of the knife, in fear for my own safety, but I decided against it. It was my decision to stay in this neighbourhood with Max instead of the safety of the orphanage, then I had better get used to fending for myself. And besides, I couldn't risk being caught with a weapon. It was probably that I'd be caught anyway.

I kept my head hung low, letting my bangs fall into my eyes and part of my face while I walked past the drug addled man. I had just walked in front of the man when I heard his voice; I assumed whatever he had said was addressed to me so I looked up and, rather intelligently, said "Hmm?" He stared at me for a second, his eyes as red as a red delicious apple. I stared back, waiting for him to say something. He said nothing and went back to smoking his joint and looking at the wall. I resumed my previous method of walking with my head down, not thinking anything of the middle aged man on the ground.

I reached the stairway; there was a small glow surrounding the concrete steps. Screw Stairway to Heaven, this is the stairway to hell. There was some truth in the words; there was no happiness at the bottom of these stairs. There were used needles, broken bottles of Jack, druggies and prostitutes passed out on the sidewalks or slouched against a building. And there were thugs everywhere. _That knife would've been useful,_ I thought. _I'm not tough enough for this._ I took a step onto the first stair and watched as a chunk of concrete fell into the darkness below. _Looks safe enough_. I was hesitant on keeping my hand on the railing; who knew what kind of nasty bacteria was on it. I concluded that I would have no choice but to grab the railing if I were to slip or if the stair I happened to be standing on began to crumble and took my foot with it.

I kept my eyes glued to the staircase as I descended; I reached the first floor of the apartment complex without any trouble from the "locals." The small foyer was practically black with dirt. It smelled strongly of urine and bile. There were needles everywhere. I tread carefully, my eyes on the ground. I pushed open the dirty glass door and stepped out into the frigid night air, glad I had brought the hoodie for warmth; I shoved my hands into the cavernous pockets. I breathed deeply, ushering in a wave of courage. The front door led out to a patch of sidewalk just next to a streetlamp. My eyes became accustomed to the darkness very quickly; across the street a few hookers stood anxiously awaiting passing cars, a Hispanic man leaned against the brick building directly behind them. We made eye contact briefly. I averted my eyes and kept my head hung low; I didn't need any unwanted attention, and I wouldn't get any if I blended in with the homeless and the sick.

I walked a few more feet before I heard footsteps approaching from behind; I removed my hands from the pockets of the hoodie, keeping them ready by my side. A hand grabbed my shoulder and spun me around to reveal the Hispanic man from across the street. His brown eyes gleamed under the intense light of the streetlamp. "I saw you eyeing my ladies over there," – he swept his arm across the scene as if showcasing a prize – "and thought that I could give you a very special price for that blonde one right there." He pointed to a rather skinny, busty lady standing on the curb, swaying around. I knew he must have just given the girl her heroin or meth fix for the night. And that's what she was: a girl. She couldn't have been more than sixteen. Probably just another runaway who thought her parents didn't treat her right. If I had anymore of a heart, a piece would have broken off for the poor girl and the rough and tragic life she was about to endure.

I kept my eyes level with those of the man. I shook my head and tried to shake off his hand. He gripped tighter. "I don't think you understand. I can give you a special price for one of _my_ girls over there," he said through his teeth.

"Not interested," I shot back. The man stared daggers at me.

"Yes you are," he stated. I saw his hand reach into his pocket, and I put my hands up in a defensive manner, away from my pockets, showing him that I had no weapon.

"I said I'm not interested, man, I'm gay," I said in a futile attempt to save my life. I tried to look too thin, sickly, anything that would stop him from using what was in his hand; it worked. The man backed off, removing his hand from my shoulder.

"Watch it, kid. It's not safe for you around here." I said nothing in return. A car pulled up next to the women across the way. The pimp shot me one last glare before jogging to the other side of the street, eyeing the man in the car hard before assuming his commanding position on the wall again. He had attempted to pull out a needle. I shivered; who knows what I could have been addicted to if I hadn't reacted. _Godspeed to those poor women_; I shook my head one last time and carried on with my mission.

The streets were submerged in complete blackness, other than the occasional yellow streetlamp. I had no idea where the orphanage was located in comparison to where I was now. I knew the street name, but I didn't know how to get from the inner city to the outskirts, to that particular subdivision. I decided that I first needed to get out of this place, and into somewhere more central.

There were run down brick buildings and little, dingy stores everywhere. Tattoo parlors, small liquor stores, corner stores and who knows what else, were scattered randomly among the buildings. It seemed as though I had been walking for hours by the time I reached a nicer neighbourhood. The truth was that I **had** been walking for hours; the sun was beginning to rise and I still wasn't close to my destination.

As the sun rose, I got a better glimpse of the houses. They were squished close together and nicer than anything you would see in Max's locality. Cars began to start up and roam the streets; lights within the homes flickered on. The workday was commencing; Max would be waking up soon. I spotted a bus stop less than a block away. Getting on a bus could do me no harm; it might even take me further into the city: where I wanted to be. Seeing that terminal turned a light on in my head; if I remembered correctly, there was a bus stop just outside of the orphanage. Now, if only I could get on the right bus…

* * *

MAX POV:

Delicate sunbeams streamed through the apartment window. Another pleasant night spent sleeping on the floor. Lovely, really. I picked myself up off of the ground and stretched, my back stiff and aching. I stopped mid sun-salutation. Something wasn't right. There was silence. No sounds of another person's breathing. No sounds from the kitchen, the bathroom, or outside that pertained to human beings' bodily noises. Complete and utter silence. I spun around, looked on the bed: empty. Fang was missing and I had no clue where to start looking.

_Damnit. _

* * *

_END_

_Ugh, I couldn't quite tweak the end of Fang's view to the way I wanted... Ah, not powerful enough. Oh well. Tell me what you thought in the review section!_


	8. Chapter 8

The Abandoned

Chapter 8

MAX POV:

He was gone; he had got up and left, with not so much as a thank you. How very pleasant. That's what I get for doing something nice for someone. _Gee_. I looked at my phone. It was a little early to be getting up, but that just gave me time to erase any memories of Fang ever staying with me. I folded up the bed and fixed the couch up to its former glory. _At least I didn't have to sleep on the floor anymore. _I sighed and stared at the couch forlornly. I liked that couch. It was a nice couch. The couch was always there for me. The couch didn't leave. And tonight, I would be coming back to that couch with a bag of fast food in my hands and a foul mood. I dragged my feet down the hallway to the linen closet, where I kept my clothes. I stripped out of my sweats and t-shirt, adorning a belted beige dress. It was quite pretty on me, actually. I was very fond of this too. I fixed up my hair in the small bathroom mirror, kept impeccably clean from the window cleaner I had saved up for. I didn't bother with makeup; too much work.

I waited patiently for the coffee to brew, leaning against the once again empty dining table. Was I really going to let this get me down? Fang had only been staying with me for a few days, it's not like it had been anything serious. I was just giving him a nice transition into his new life. I hoped that it would be no less than better than the one I had.

The coffee machine dinged. Black coffee in a chrome travel mug, just like I had poured everyday for the past six months. _I'm in a rut,_ I thought. I pulled on a pair of brown suede booties and exited the cage that was my home. My phone buzzed. It was Mrs. Hiliker.

_I won't be in today, kids are sick, you know what to do._

Oh, happy day! Whenever the boss lady was sick, the minions had an easy day of work. Although I was hoping that it'd be a busy day, keeps the mind busy. I didn't want to think about my personal life today.

I quickly unlocked the apartment once more and I took the time to make the coffee the way _I _liked to drink it; I even had time to eat a granola bar before locking up again. A man was passed out on the floor at the end of the hall, a burn mark in the carpet where he had extinguished a cigarette or something of the like.

I caught the bus at my usual place, walking the other half of the way to the office once I got into the city. I said hi quickly to Matt and crushed myself into the elevator. As soon as I reached my floor, I rushed to my desk and immersed myself in work.

* * *

FANG POV:

I was having a hard time keeping my eyes open on the bus; I hadn't slept in 24 hours. I tried to be attentive, but the exhaustion was catching up to me. Someone pulled the line to get off, calling me back to my sense. I looked around me. I didn't even know if this was the right bus, but this part of town looked familiar. I got off with the person who had called for the stop, standing awkwardly as the bus drove away. The houses in this area were small, a good neighbourhood. Very family-oriented. It was comforting to be here. Behind every perfect neighbourhood, however, is evil, as everyone knows. Even the most quiet of places has its downfalls. It just takes some effort to find them.

I walked in the direction that the bus had taken, leaving the person waiting at the bus stop alone. I had no idea where I was going. There were no signs telling me where this street lead, or what would happen if I turned down that side street… I wish I had a cell phone to call Max for directions… she'd help me out.

I came to the end of that particular road, and then took various turns. I knew the general neighbourhood that the orphanage was located in, and I could feel that I was getting close. And I was; one more turn and I was on the street I needed, coming from the opposite side than the direction I had run just a few days before. I wondered if they had even looked for me, or even noticed I was gone. I soon found my answer when I neared the building; fliers with big bold letters advertising my disappearance were plastered on the chain link fence on this side of the street.

I could see the orphanage now. Children were out playing, it was that time of day, just before lunch. I jumped the fence then, wanting to avoid being seen by any of the workers. The other side of the fence was covered in coniferous trees, bushes and the occasional Elm tree. After about six feet of gently sloped ground, it dropped off into a very steep hill. I crouched down into the bushes, making myself comfortable. I made a note to stay awake until the women watching the children play changed their positions at 3 when the children were outside again.

* * *

2:45 read the clock on the outside of the building. I was to a point in my exhaustion where I was wide-awake and ready for anything. I waited eagerly for the three o'clock shift to happen. Around 2:57, I started to have my doubts about my plan. My plan was to run into the building through a throng of children, hoping that none of them get in my way or want to follow me, and hide in a closet, immediately inside of the doorway. How was I going to stay quiet in a very small closet with my long body and not fall asleep? Why did I think that was a good idea? There was no more time to deliberate on a new plan. The women watching the children looked down at her watch, and turned to walk down the hall. I vaulted over the fence, booking it across the empty street, vaulting over the other fence, drawing the attention of perhaps 85% of the children, and slipped into the closet. I was hoping the security guard wasn't watching his screens at that moment, because surely he would be on me in less then five minutes if he saw a hooded figure run into a closet and hide.

No one came for me, thank god. None of the children ratted me out, maybe they had recognized me and thought they'd do me a favour. I dared not fall asleep, in fear of knocking something with my foot. I watched as the rays of sun disappeared from under the door, fading in blackness. The children were herded into the dinner hall, waiting for their meal. All of the supervisors would be in there watching everyone now. Not only the kids, the teenagers and the babies were in there too. _All _of the adults were away at that moment. I crawled out of the closet, moving slowly down the hall, listening for any signs of movement. _Nothing. _I ran along the halls, slowing when passing a hallway leading to the dinner hall. I was doing well so far.

I made it to my former room. No locks on the doors made this easy work. I sighed stepping into that room. So many memories were made in here. I was happy to leave them though. I virtually dove under the bed. I let out a sigh of relief as my hand clutched the small box. I pulled it out, kneeling by the bed, placing it on the new comforter. I opened it, admiring the work that someone had put into this ornate little thing. I didn't hear the door open behind me. Someone cleared their throat. I jumped, snapping the box shut, frantically spinning around with it held tightly my chest, eyes wild.

It was a boy. Black hair, thin. Scared. I was startled; it was I six years ago. Damn, this place fills up fast. Did they really not even save my room, just in case they found me within, say, one week? Really? Not that it mattered to me. I didn't plan on coming back.

The child stared at me for a long while, not going to get a supervisor, or screaming. I did the same. I was frozen to the spot. I broke the silence first. "Shhh," I whispered, putting my finger over my pursed lips. He looked terrified. I decided to elaborate. "I just came back for my box, I left it here when I ran away last week," I whispered in a calm tone. The child continued to stare at me, unmoving from his place in the doorway, blocking my exit. I was getting antsy. Time for me to leave. Dinner was almost over.

"Look, kid, I'm sorry I broke into your room, I didn't take anything, I just needed my box," I said, urgency dripping into my voice.

"Who are you?" It speaks. Wow.

"It doesn't matter," I said quietly. I didn't want to be known here anymore. I just wanted to be a face in the crowd here. "But I have to go now, before dinner is over." He nodded at me. "What's your name, dude?"

"Steven."

"Alright." I made a mental note to come back in a few years and look for Steven. He looked shell shocked. Maybe I'd come back a little earlier than a few years.

I scooted around the boy and left the building unnoticed. It was, of course, dark outside, but the corner store at the end of the street must have a phone I could use. I ran there, not wanting to linger too long, lest I bring attention to myself. I had just the right amount of coins left to call a cab company. They arrived fairly quickly. The cabbie was an older man, maybe in his fifties. I told him the street to go to, and he gave me a funny look through the rearview mirror; he didn't press the issue as to why I was going to a nasty place like that. He dropped me off at the corner and was on his way to another fare.

I ran up the stairs of the building, opening the door to Max's apartment and quickly collapsing on the couch. The bed was folded up for some reason and Max's sleeping stuff put away… weird.

* * *

MAX POV:

I stayed late at the office. I had burned through a good chunk of my paperwork, made some calls, served a few writers a deadline notice. It was a busy day. Well, I had made it busy. It was pretty lax for everyone else. I packed up around 8, leisurely walking to the elevator. I didn't bother to rush today. Maybe Matt was still downstairs, maybe we could chat. I walked out of the elevator, trying not to get my hopes up in case he had gone home. Luckily, today was busy for him too, and I found him sitting at his desk, still working away. "Matt," I said. "It's eight o'clock, were you planning on going home or working overnight?" I laughed lightheartedly.

"Oh dear god, are you serious? Ah, well. Why aren't you home already? Tired of your new toy?" He winked at me from behind his chic glasses.

I laughed. "He is _so _not my new toy! Besides, he moved out, who knows where he is." I tried to sound indifferent and light, but it was difficult to hide the pang of sadness that I felt. Matt picked up on it.

"Do you want to go out for a drink or two? It's Friday. You seem sad. Neither of us has to work tomorrow. Let's go have fun, Maxie, we deserve it!" With the last part, the man smacked his hand down on his desk, pretending to be a politician fighting for his side. I laughed at him, taking his hand to lead him from around his desk. We walked out of the skyscraper, laughing and holding hands, until we found a rather nice looking bar. I didn't get I. . I assume they saw as the company saw me: 20 years old. We stayed at the bar for a good four hours, dancing and drinking, before Matt had to drag me home, drunk as a skunk. We caught a cab, and they dropped me off first.

* * *

FANG POV:

It was almost midnight… where was Max? Did something happen to her? I sat on the couch playing with my hands, having turned the TV off an hour before. I was worried. She didn't seem like the type to go out and do something stupid. I got up and started to pace.

The door burst open and Max stumbled in. She slammed the door, holding onto the wall for support. This could not be good.

"Where have you been?" I asked, trying to make her drunkenness less obvious. A shocked look passed over her face.

"I was out drinkin withf Matt," she slurred, looking straight at me. I wanted to berate her for being so stupid as to get that drunk and having to come home in that state to this neighbourhood. She continued, "What are you thstill doin here? I thought you h-had left me fer good." She chuckled a bit, looking down. She stumbled into the kitchen falling into one of the chairs, laughing at herself.

"I didn't leave you," I said. She stopped laughing and put her face in her hands.

"I didn't want you to leave," –she had sobered up a little – "I was so scared I was alone again and you didn't care about me at all a-a-and I was so sad and stupid." She was crying now. Full on bawling, actually. I felt so, so horrible. Max was sixteen years old, on her own in a terrible neighbourhood, working herself into the ground for such a little amount of money, struggling to make ends meet, and here I was, finally someone to have with her, to help support her, and I had just gotten up and left before she awoke that morning, not explaining that I would be back. This was my fault. I pulled the empty chair closer to hers, sitting down. I put my hand on her knee in an attempt to comfort her, but the waterworks just kept coming.

"Get up, Max," I said softly, offering my hand to help her. She took it, still crying into one hand. I lead her into the living room, and sat her down on my lap. I held her while she cried, the only way to calm someone down I knew of. I rested my cheek against her forehead, whispering 'I'm sorry' over and over again until she stopped crying. The sobbing must have worn her out, because the next thing I knew, she was a dead weight, her head leaned against my chest.

I slipped one of my arms under her knees and picked her up bridal style. I laid her on the couch, arranging the pillow under her head so that it was comfortable. I went and grabbed a blanket out of her closet and gently laid it over her. I grabbed the pillow by her feet and placed in on the floor by the couch, sleeping in my clothes with no blanket, on a very small pillow in a very grimy apartment.

* * *

_END_

_hohoho, Saturday awaits us, Fang's got his box, Max is home from work, there's a whole day for me to add twists to. Let me know what you think, this chapter is completely new! Review review review!_


	9. Chapter 9

The Abandoned

Chapter 9

THIRD PERSON POV:

All was quiet in the tiny apartment. A girl with deep purple bags under her eyes was sleeping like a log on the couch. A boy, of approximately the same age, lay next to the couch sleeping also, however he was in his clothes.

The boy didn't notice when the girl sat up groggily on the couch, pulling herself up a little too quickly, causing her to lie back far too quickly as well. He also didn't notice when she ran to the washroom to vomit.

MAX POV:

My head was pounding, and I was more than a little bit nauseous. I sat up, putting my hand to my head as the ache caught up with me. I flopped back down, upsetting my stomach. I felt bile rise in my throat. I leaped out off of the couch and sprinted for the bathroom, only getting there just in time for the contents of my stomach to spew into the grayish toilet. **(AN: grayish is a word. Who knew!) **I lifted my head from the bowl, feeling slightly better. My hair fell into my face. Ugh.

I flushed the toilet after I closed the lid, not wanting to see the raunchy mix escape down the pipes. I looked at myself in the mirror above the sink. I looked grotesque. My hair was knotted and hanging limply around my face. Dark bags were under my eyes; my skin was pale. I opened the cabinet above the toilet and groped around for ibuprofen, anything that would get rid of this headache. I dipped my head under the tap when I found the bottle, swallowing the small white pill easily.

FANG POV:

I cringed as I awoke to the sound of Max woofing her cookies. If there was one sound I hated most in the world, it was the sound of someone vomiting. I escaped the sound by climbing out of the window, sitting cross-legged on the metal balcony. There was a small terracotta pot in the corner, with small pink and yellow flowers sprouting out over the sides. I had never noticed the plain potter; it was very cute, actually. I heard Max groan, dragging her feet down the carpeted hallway. I turned my sitting body around to face the open window. She stood there, the back of her hand against her forehead, eyes squinted, looking rather horrible. I laughed at her; _serves her right, _I think to myself.

She began to speak. "Will you go get me bacon, eggs, and fries from McDonalds please? I need the grease." She turned away, shuffling into the kitchen and sitting in a chair.

I shrugged. I walked through the living room on my way to the kitchen. It had been warm last night, so I had wrapped my box in my sweater and placed it by the television stand. Max probably wouldn't bother it. I stayed in the kitchen for all of three seconds, quickly grabbing some cash from the drawer and took long strides back through the living room, and jumped out onto the fire escape.

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MAX POV:

Fang had finally left to get me food. I didn't particularly feel like eating, but maybe it would make me feel better. I dragged myself into the living room, easing myself down onto the couch. I noticed Fang's sweater in the corner. I hated stuff on my floor. My floor was dirty enough without unnecessary stuff on it. I went over and picked up the sweater; _thump_. I looked down; a peculiar little box had fallen out. Hmm. I picked up the ornate wooden prism, my thumb on the latch, somewhat hesitant. I didn't hear Fang on the fire escape until he gasped, leaning into the window, food in hand, eyes glued to my hands on his box.

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_END. _

_So that was an insanely short chapter. I wanted to break this one up. I also wanted your opinion on how Fang should react to Max with his box and how things should play out between the two. I'm not really sure... I kind of dragged myself through the six hundred words above tbh :/ and this is probably a really boring story anyway omg_

_Sigh, this was totally uncreative. I NEED YOU GUYS. Review review review please please please!_


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